Four
April 6th
Ellis bank balance: ￡58,692.92
The evening sun was still bright, the gusts of wind warm, and walking hand-in-hand with Emily, watching T-shirt-wearing golfers in their buggies zipping like large white flies across the pristine fairways, Mark felt a lightness in his step. The couple turned right, down a little dirt track lined with striped aloe vera plants, the leaves gnarled, tips spiky. Emily squeezed his hand gently. Maybe this adventure would allow them to rekindle their relationship. Once the musty smell was gone from the house, she’d cope better.
‘Where are we eating?’ asked Emily.
‘Monica’s. It’s owned and run by a Portuguese family. David, one of our neighbours, recommended it, especially the tapas.’
They chose a large table, laid with mismatched, brightly coloured glasses, linen napkins, and a little hurricane lamp, its flame flickering unnecessarily but adding to the tropical atmosphere. A soloist was singing a Seu Jorge track. Emily claimed she recognized the lyrics from the London cocktail bar she and Mary liked to visit. Mark smiled inwardly, telling her if she learned to speak Portuguese, she would discover what the song was about. He watched her kick off her sandals and start tapping her feet to the Brazilian jazz, and waited until she had a glass of wine in her hand before he picked up his own drink. His eyes flickered to a piece of paper on her side plate. She pinned it with a finger and dipped her head towards it. It was a list. Hers didn’t look too long. Good. He had a list of his own. Hers would have to wait. Telling himself to use the same dexterity he employed when negotiating a fee with a client, he wondered if she’d forgotten or was ignoring their precarious financial position.
‘Right,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘Let’s run through this quickly then we can enjoy ourselves.’
‘Fine.’
‘There’s damp in one of the ground-floor bedrooms. We need to get someone to sort that.’
‘Agreed,’ he said, taking a double swallow of beer.
She shot him a grateful smile. ‘It needs redecorating too,’ she laughed nervously, ‘to get rid of all that horrid flaking paint!’
‘No,’ he said flatly.
Her fingers clenched the stem of her wine glass. ‘What do you mean, no? That will be Alex’s room when he stays.’
‘I’ll do it myself.’
She spluttered wine back into her glass. ‘You?’ she said, coughing. ‘You haven’t wielded anything but a calculator for decades.’
He took another swig of beer. ‘Can’t be that difficult to paint a room.’
She laughed. ‘As long as it’s done properly.’
‘Next,’ he said with a grin.
The music stopped, and Emily clapped. The singer inclined his head, chose another backing track, and leaned into the microphone.
‘We need a locksmith to look at the front door – it’s tricky to open.’
‘I’ll have a look at it.’
Emily coughed out another brittle laugh. ‘You don’t even own a screwdriver.’
‘Screwdrivers aren’t as expensive as locksmiths. David tells me that, in the golden triangle, all suppliers assume everyone is as rich as the footballers on Quinta do Lago.’
‘All right, have it your way, but I don’t want to get locked out. What about some new outside furniture?’
‘I agree the stuff they’ve left is a bit tatty. Why not cost some replacements?’
‘Then we need a new kitchen.’ She gave him the sort of look she saved for describing what she termed “fashion misses” by girlfriends. ‘Horrid, isn’t it? Washing machine next to the fridge, and those ghastly plastic counters. The housekeeper will need a proper utility room. The current one is just a corridor.’
Mark ran a finger up and down his beer bottle. He must drive the money message home. ‘Get used to them. They’re not changing until one of the houses sells. Essential stuff only.’
Emily took a swig of wine then slammed her glass onto the table. ‘Are you saying no to everything except sorting out the damp?’ She threw her list at him; it fluttered above the breadbasket and landed in a dish of olive oil.
‘Let’s not spoil the evening,’ he said, fishing out the slick green list and holding it up to let the oil drip back into the dish. ‘Until one of the houses sells, we can’t throw around money we don’t have. Why not find a local interior designer and enjoy yourself planning changes? That’s free.’
Emily picked up her wine glass. He reached across and wrapped his hands around her other hand, stroking it. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult. Once we’ve got the money you can spend what you like.’
A dish of calamari was placed in front of him, and he picked a piece up with his fingers, dipping it in the aioli, and biting into the crunchy batter, his mouth exploding with the garlicky flavour. ‘Gosh, this is seriously good. Try one.’ He nudged the bowl towards Emily.
‘I like that idea.’ Emily wiped her hands on her napkin. ‘The local interior designer. What about some help? Housekeeper, gardener, pool man?’
He felt his throat tighten. He’d been waiting for the right entry point. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘I’ll tackle the DIY, but with that, my noddy roles, and sorting out the red tape here, you’ll have to sort the domestic stuff.’
‘Nah-ah,’ she mumbled through gritted teeth. ‘Oh no, you don’t.’
‘Well, someone has to earn some money, and you’ve made it quite clear you don’t want to get a job.’
‘I will not lead my mother’s life,’ she said, quietly, calmly.
He patted the air with his hands. ‘Look, once the London rentals kick in, we can hire some help. How many times do I have to stress: this is temporary?’ He picked up a spring roll, dabbed it in sweet chilli sauce, then smiled at her. ‘Why don’t I book you a flight to London next week? You can pop back and see your girlfriends?’
‘I’m allowed to fly, am I? You don’t expect me to swim home?’
‘Ha ha. I’ve got mountains of Avios points,’ he said, biting into his spring roll.
He totted up what he’d agreed to spend. A few grand on damp proofing, and less than a hundred on tools. The Ellis buffer wouldn’t be dented too much.